


Your Touch, Your Skin

by warqueenfuriosa



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Love, Mockingjay Spoilers, One Shot, Psychological Trauma, Schmoop, Sexual Content, Smut, Sweet, Wedding, just all the odesta fluff you could ever dream of, rape warning to be on the safe side, though no explicit rape scenes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-04-04 07:49:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4130175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warqueenfuriosa/pseuds/warqueenfuriosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The wedding is almost here and as much as Finnick is excited for it, worry plagues him day and night. The last thing he wants is to trouble Annie with his nightmares. Monsters from his past rear their ugly heads time and time again until he can no longer ignore them. His time at the Capitol with countless lovers has left a scar, still raw and tender, that eats away at him over his impending wedding night and all it entails. Annie helps him to heal and to love in a way no lover from the Capitol ever showed him before.<br/>*Inspired by Lay Me Down by Sam Smith and John Legend*</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Touch, Your Skin

**Author's Note:**

> *TRIGGER WARNING*  
> To be on the safe side, I've put a rape warning on this but there will be NO scenes/descriptions/etc. of rape. It is implied, especially given Finnick's background, that he had some encounters where he was less than willing but he did it anyway and he struggles with the trauma it has caused. But there are NO RAPE SCENES.
> 
> Warning #2 (not nearly as serious): I've never ever thought I would write smut and yet here we are. So I'm going to give it my best shot, and apologies in advance if I psychologically scar you for life :)  
> (I am sooooooo nervous right now omg how does anyone do this)

Finnick had never been more terrified in his life.

Not when he stepped into the arena – twice – and stared death in its ugly face.

Not when the Districts fell into rebellion and he realized he might die before he saw Annie again.

It was his wedding day that terrified him, only a week from now. There wasn’t an ounce of regret for proposing to Annie. He wished he had asked her sooner. After the Quarter Quell, Finnick was never far from Annie’s side, as if they were two magnets, inexplicably drawn to one another. No matter the distance, they always gravitated back to each other.

One night after his return from the Quell, Annie had crept into Finnick’s bed, her small hand on his chest, her soft lips against his cheek, his forehead, his eyelids, his throat, his lips, gentle as butterfly wings. She wasn’t demanding – Annie was never demanding – but it was clear what she wanted and it made Finnick’s pulse quicken, fast as a frightened rabbit.

Finnick closed his hand over Annie’s against his chest. “Annie, wait,” he whispered, his voice scratchy and rough in the darkness.

“But I thought…”

“It’s not you,” he hurried to amend. “It’s me. I’m not…it’s not that I don’t want to, I do, I’m just…”

“Not yet,” she finished for him.

He let out a relieved breath. “Yeah. Is that okay? I hate to think you believe it’s because of you, when it’s not and I…”

Annie placed a finger against his lips. She shifted until she was pressed against his side, her sloping curves fitting like a hand in glove to his muscled frame.

“You’ve been through so much, Finnick,” she said. “You say it’s not because of me, I believe you. Take all the time you need.”

She kissed his shoulder then started to leave but Finnick caught her around the waist.

“I’d like it if you stayed though,” he said. “But you don’t have to if you’d rather not.”

Annie curled up next to him with a sigh of contentment, comforted by the knowledge that Finnick wasn’t far, that they wouldn’t have to be separated for an entire night so soon after the horrors of the Quell. Her breathing evened out within minutes but sleep eluded Finnick. He couldn’t stop berating himself for denying Annie what she wanted. Years in the Capitol had taught him the fine, delicate art of intimacy and the myriad pleasures of the human body. This wasn’t unfamiliar territory for him.

With Annie though…things were different. When he was in the Capitol, he locked away a small part of himself, safe, untouched by anyone else. They could do what they wanted to his body but they couldn’t get to that one place in his mind where no one was allowed to go.

To keep any part of himself from Annie felt wrong. He wanted to give her everything and hold nothing back. He didn’t know how to unlock that safe place yet though, that sanctuary in his mind no one else had ever been granted access to before. Annie wouldn’t push if he wasn’t ready to let her in but that wouldn’t be fair to her when she gave so much of herself so willingly.

Since that night, Annie made it a habit to slip in next to him but she never made the same advances again. She had placed at Finnick’s feet the offer of time and space to work things out for himself and in the meantime, she’d be by his side whenever he needed her.

And the nightmares. God, he had to get a grip on the nightmares before the wedding night. He suspected Annie knew about them already, as intuitive as she was about such things. Every time he woke up in a cold sweat, gasping for air, Annie’s hand crept across his chest and she nuzzled into his shoulder.

At first when she did that, Finnick thought he’d woken her but she made no more movements, her breathing maintaining a calm, even rhythm. Finnick squeezed Annie’s hand, his anchor in this turbulent sea of emotions he sailed. He struggled to calm himself down, to focus on the warmth of Annie next to him.

The nightmares never varied, only two themes constantly lurked in his mind: his trysts in the Capitol and losing Annie.

Getting back to sleep after a nightmare involving Annie was impossible and he gave up trying to. The dreams always put him through endless cycles of watching Annie die with no way to get to her, no way to pick her up in his arms as the precious life drained from her body.

When those nightmares plagued him, he’d roll over and hold Annie tight, her heartbeat matched to his. He nestled his face against the top of her head and wrestled back tears. More often than not, he lost the battle, crying softly against her hair, overcome with relief that she was alive, breathing, unharmed. She’s safe, he told himself over and over, she’s safe.

The nightmares featuring the Capitol were becoming more frequent now that the wedding was drawing near. Grasping hands. Whispers. Kisses. Skin. The sweaty scent of lust. All the while, he counted down the seconds when it would be over, imagining himself somewhere else, somewhere far away from the greed and filth, gluttony and insatiable desires of the Capitol.

Annie was with him for the last nightmare and he hated himself for it. She was perfect, so, so perfect; the Capitol shouldn’t scar her the way it had scarred him. He felt as if his thoughts would rub off on her, blacken her sweet, kind, gentle soul the way it had done to nearly everyone else, stolen their joy, their peace of mind, their sanity.

As much as it pained him to be separate from Annie, to be without her physical contact for even a moment, Finnick had to put distance between them as long as the Capitol was on his mind to protect her. He moved away to sit on the edge of the bed, his elbows propped on his knees. The space where Annie’s body had been pressed against his back grew cold with her absence. He flicked on the small bedside lamp, rubbed a hand over his face, but when he glanced over his shoulder, he stopped.

Annie lay curled up into the warm dip of his bed where he’d been asleep. Her dark, tangled hair spread out across the pillow like a halo. Even in sleep, she reached for him, her arm draped across the bed towards him.

Finnick brushed the back of his knuckles across her cheek. His mind started to clear, his heartrate began to slow down. Annie had always been the one to keep him sane, keep him grounded, just like she did now. She didn’t have to do or say anything. Her presence was enough.

Finnick should have mentioned it sooner. With less than a week to the wedding, his nerves were getting the better of him. Annie hadn’t made so much as a hint or a mild suggestion like she had the night after his return from the Quell. Finnick knew she wouldn’t press him but it wasn’t right to put her through more grief, especially after all this chaos with the Capitol and the rebellion and the fighting and the Games. Above all else, he wanted to see her happy, to see her smile, and if he couldn’t provide that for her, she had a right to know before she bound herself to him in marriage.

Before breakfast, Finnick caught Annie’s hand on the way to the cafeteria.

“I need to talk to you,” he said.

Annie glanced at him, her gaze turned serious. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes…no. I don’t know. It’s about the wedding.”

Annie nodded, valiantly trying to hide the concern that shadowed her eyes and made Finnick’s heart ache. He led the way to a small store room, the only place he knew they wouldn’t be bothered while everyone else ate in the cafeteria. The sharp scent of antiseptic surrounded them in a noxious cloud. Not the ideal place he would have chosen but at least it was someplace they could talk in private for a minute or two. He took a deep breath and turned to face Annie.

“I thought I could handle it on my own,” Finnick said. “I thought maybe with time it would fade. But that hasn’t happened and I’ve come to understand that without meaning to, this affects you as well.”

The concern flared in Annie’s eyes now. “Finnick, you’re scaring me.”

He looked away, his throat tight. He knew this would be hard, but he had no idea how hard. He wanted all the happiness in the world for Annie and in the process he may have to break her heart.

“It’s about our wedding night,” Finnick said quietly. Heat flushed his face and his voice wobbled with anxiety. There was no reason why he should be so skittish about the subject, it was old hat, had been for years. But this was _Annie_. Not a Capitol lover gorging on pretty words, empty promises of affection, and the transience of physical pleasure.

“Okay,” Annie hedged, uncertainty heavy in her tone. “Are you…nervous?”

Finnick saw how desperately she was trying to understand yet at the same time, he didn’t want her to. How could he explain that he loved her more than he had ever loved anyone else in his life but he couldn’t follow through when she needed it, when she expected it?

“Ever since the Capitol,” he said. “It’s been…it’s difficult.”

Annie nodded. “Is that what your nightmares are about?”

Finnick’s eyebrows shot up. “How did you know that? I was so careful not to wake you.”

Annie smiled and pressed a kiss to the back of his hand.

“You didn’t, but I wish you had. It’s not hard to figure out. This face,” she took his face in her hands and smoothed her thumbs over his cheekbones, his chin, his lips. “This handsome face I’ve come to love so impossibly much, you think I don’t notice the strain around your eyes? Or the way you tighten your lips whenever I ask you what’s wrong, as if you’re physically trying to keep the words from spilling out? Because I notice. I notice every day.”

He sighed and leaned into her hands. “You never said anything.”

“I wanted to, believe me, I wanted to. You needed to be ready to talk on your own terms, not mine.”

Finnick’s chest ached at her words. No one had ever said that to him. No one had ever been patient enough to wait him out as Annie did. What if this pulled them apart? How could he let her go? He wouldn’t force her to stay, no, but the idea of watching her walk away was tearing him to pieces. He wouldn’t go so far as to say he couldn’t live without her. That was too much, too drastic, but he would never forget her. He didn’t use that word often, never, it was strong, definite, and it made him squirm with the finality it carried. Eternal. Forever. Endless. But it was true.

“Finnick,” Annie called to him softly. “I’m right here.”

A single tear rolled down Finnick’s cheek. The time had come. She would know everything he’d been trying so hard to shield her from. This could very well be the last time he held her and she held him, united against anything the world would throw their way.

The words poured from him, mingled with his tears, and he wanted to stop, he wanted to say it the way he’d been planning for days. He wanted to be stronger than this.

“I’m scared, Annie,” he choked out. “You deserve every bit of happiness and I can give you so little. Our wedding night, or any time after that…I don’t know if I can do it. All of my experience comes from the Capitol and I don’t…I don’t want that for you.”

Annie’s hands tightened around his as he started to shake with the force of the emotions he’d been keeping at bay, refusing to feel, refusing to acknowledge in the fear that they would do exactly what they were doing now – overpowering him. She listened, silent. Finnick couldn’t look at her face and kept his gaze trained on their hands, his shoes, the lock of hair curled perfectly into her collarbone, just as long as he didn’t look into her eyes where he was certain would be a growing shadow of trepidation and regret, regret that this was not the man she truly wished to marry after all.

“That night you came to me,” he continued, “I knew it was you but all I could think of, all I could feel, was them. I want to be with _you_ , Annie, not them and I’m trying to change it, I really am but I don’t know how. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to. You shouldn’t have to be married to a man who can’t make you happy, Annie. I’m so sorry.”

His voice finally broke. Annie whispered to him soothingly, wrapped her arms around him, and ran her fingers through his hair. Finnick held on to her, enveloped by the sweet smell of her soap, her hair, her skin. He didn’t want to let her go again, not ever, but he was so sure she wouldn’t want him now. She would let him down easy of course because she could never hurt anyone as long as she lived. This would be the last time he could gather her up into his arms and that realization made him cry even harder.

After a few minutes, Annie pulled back slightly, her arms still around his neck, to look him in the eyes.

“Finnick,” she said.

He couldn’t stop, his breathing coming in short, desperate gasps. Annie kissed one tear-stained cheek, then the other.

“Finnick, my love,” she whispered.

He raised his gaze to meet hers and she smiled.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “Is that why you’ve been so quiet lately? Because you’re worried about our wedding night?”

He nodded.

“Oh, Finnick,” she said, shaking her head. “You mean so much more to me than sex.”

Of course Annie was able to cut right to the heart of the matter, blunt, simple, while he had danced around it, unsure of whether or not he was making her uncomfortable by bringing it up.

“But it’s not fair to you if I can’t fulfill that need,” he protested.

She kissed him, gently, not demanding, but comforting.

“You fulfill far more in my life than that, Finnick. I could care less about sex. Just being around you, knowing you’re near me when I sleep and by my side nearly every possible waking moment, there’s nothing else I need. There’s nothing else I want.”

Finnick covered his eyes with one hand. Somewhere in the back of his mind a little voice told him to argue, that Annie didn’t know what she was talking about. She’d change her mind when, years down the road, he still refused to touch her more than in a platonic manner. But the words didn’t come. He was too relieved that she wasn’t upset, she wasn’t turning him away, calling the wedding off. She accepted him when he didn’t accept himself.

“There’s something I probably should have told you sooner too,” she said, rubbing her thumb across the back of his hand. “You’re concerned about having sex and pleasing me but…I don’t…I may not be able to have children.”

Her voice trembled a little. Finnick tugged her closer and kissed her forehead. She gave a high, nervous laugh, a laugh he knew meant she was just as scared as he was. Frantically, he searched for some hint she may have made earlier that had, somehow, been overlooked. Nothing came to mind. She’d wrestled with this for years and not once had she brought it up. How could he have missed it?

“Great timing, isn’t it?” she said. “We wait until the week before the wedding to talk about these things.”

One of Annie’s hands escaped his grip and wandered to her head, pressed against her ear, pulling at her hair. That was the red flag, Finnick knew. The stress was getting to her. She’d start screaming in exactly one minute. As much as he battled his own nightmares of the Games, she fought her own demons every second of every day. Things would only go downhill too fast from here on out if he didn’t get Annie back on track.

“Annie,” he said, keeping his voice calm. “Look at me.”

“I don’t know for sure,” she continued as if she hadn’t heard him, shaking her head. Her gaze remained centered on his chest, refusing to make eye contact. “I could go to the doctor and find out but I don’t…I can’t…I can’t know. If I never know, it’s better that way. Mama said I was always too skinny because sometimes we didn’t have enough food and I developed slower and I might have trouble…you know…with children and…”

Finnick closed the distance between them, folding her into his arms. He could feel her fingernails bite into his shoulder blades as she struggled to hold on, struggled to get her breathing under control, to stay grounded with him.

“Now it’s my turn,” she sniffed, her voice muffled against his shoulder. “You shouldn’t have to marry a woman who can’t bear you children.”

In answer, Finnick cupped her face in his hands, as she had done to him earlier, and kissed all over her face until she laughed through her tears. He picked her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist, her fingers tangled in his hair.

“I take it that’s a good sign,” she grinned.

He nodded. “Yes. Very good.” Then, as an afterthought, he added, “But if you change your mind…”

Annie cut him off with a kiss that was demanding this time, burning with intensity. She abandoned trying to convince him with words and let her actions express her desire to never be parted from him again.

***

In the history of matrimony, no wedding could compare to that of Finnick Odair and Annie Cresta. Right in the middle of the rebellion, fighting, bloodshed, heartache, and violence, the wedding formed an oasis of celebration, genuine celebration unlike the gaudy Capitol parties that were nothing more than excuses to indulge in excess. It had been a long, long time since the Districts had witnessed such pure, innocent joy as was expressed when Finnick and Annie looked at each other, the way their hands linked together when they stood next to each other. There was no doubt that Finnick Odair and Annie Cresta were meant for one another.

The festivities lingered well into the night, dancing, food, and laughter acting as healing balms for the mind and body after the agonizing years of fear and desperation President Snow had smothered the people with. The guests didn’t want to leave, knowing once the party ended, once the lights faded, the shadows of war would creep back in and drain the life from them, turn them into frightened animals again, fighting for their lives.

Finnick continually stole glances at Annie throughout the reception, soaking up the way she glowed. He couldn’t get enough of how happy she was. If only she could stay that way forever and the world would never touch her with its stained hands. As much as he noticed her smiles and laughter, he also took note of when the fatigue began to set in. He gave her a little while longer to enjoy herself before he drew her to him gently and pressed a kiss to her temple.

“Let’s get out of here,” he whispered.

A slow smile crept across her face and she nodded. Without making a big announcement or fuss, they merely slipped away to their “suite,” special private quarters that had been granted by Coin as a honeymoon gift for one cherished night.

Once the door closed and Finnick was alone with Annie, they stared at each other for a moment. Finnick’s stomach flip-flopped but he couldn’t tell if it was from excitement or fear or a combination of both. Annie stepped forward and leaned closer, her lips hovering just above his, not quite touching. Her gaze flicked up to his face.

“I love you,” she breathed.

In answer, Finnick moved to kiss her but Annie placed her fingertips over his mouth. He hesitated, confused.

“When I say that,” she said. “It’s not for what comes after, not as a way to get something from you. I love you now. Here. Just as you are.”

Finnick’s uncertainty ebbed at her words. Even though they had discussed it and Annie had been very clear she had no expectations from him, he still wanted to make the night perfect for her. The Capitol had taken so much from them, kept them apart for too long, and he was determined the Capitol would not steal this night from his precious Annie.

He kissed her, deep and soft, as his hands slid around her waist. His tongue traced her lips lightly and, without hesitation, she opened her mouth to him. Her hands crept up his back, guiding him to her, not insistent or grasping or demanding like his Capitol lovers had been, always needy and hungry for more in their empty lives.

No, Finnick thought as he shoved the memories away. He would not compare his sweet Annie to any of his lovers before. Tonight, it was Annie and only Annie. Tonight, she was his entire world in that priceless, guarded space in his mind, away from everything else. Tonight, nothing else mattered but the woman in his arms as he kissed her like he’d never kissed her before and how she responded in kind, sliding her tongue along the roof of his mouth.

Annie’s hands tugged at the hem of his shirt, a polite request, and only once. Then she stopped, leaving it up to him to follow through. Finnick wasted no time in pulling his shirt over his head, breaking away from Annie for two interminable seconds. He tossed his shirt to the floor, heedless of where it landed, focused solely on getting back to Annie with her gentle touches and her sweet, heady kisses tasting of wine and berries.

Annie slid her hands from his shoulders down his chest. He shivered against her fingertips, sliding over his skin, marveling at every dip and swell of him. In turn, he worked the pins lose from her veil, one by one, until it fluttered to the floor, a lacy butterfly that melted into a puddle on the ground.

“Are you okay?” she asked quietly, swaying closer to him, nuzzling her nose against his.

To his surprise, he realized he was. Nervous, yes, very much so, but not the crippling anxiety he’d had earlier in the week. Everything was Annie now, the smell of rose petals in her hair, the warmth of sunshine that still lingered on her skin from the ceremony, the flush of wine in her cheeks. He could stay right here, in this moment, staring only at her, and he would need nothing else.  

“Yes,” he said. “I’m okay if you are.”

She beamed and her entire face lit up, her nose wrinkled, her eyes sparkled, and Finnick felt his stomach drop. Just when he thought he couldn’t fall for her any harder, she smiled like that, with her whole body, her whole being. She kissed him again, that smile glowing against his mouth, and set every nerve ending, every muscle in Finnick’s body to singing.

Gently, Finnick turned Annie around, his hands resting on her shoulders. She swept her hair aside so he could get to the buttons on her dress but he couldn’t resist the temptation of her bare neck. He brushed a line of kisses from her shoulder up to her ear, nipping at her earlobe. She hitched up her shoulders and giggled.

“That tickles,” she said.

Finnick grinned and kissed her more and more until she squealed with laughter. His hands crept to the pearl buttons, drifting down her spine. He slipped one button through the buttonhole and he placed a small, feathery light kiss to the skin that peeked out. At long last, he thought, here was Mrs…

Another button. Another kiss.

Annie…

Another button. Kiss.

_Odair._

The final button popped free and he kissed his way up her spine again, reveling in the way her back arched and the sound of her small, blissful sigh. He slid his hands against the warm, smooth skin of her back, soaking up each little bit of her he could touch.

For so long, they had fought to be together, fought the Capitol, the Games, President Snow, the rebellion, and now, come hell or high water, nothing could pull them apart. Despite the odds, the challenges, the impossibilities they had overcome, here they stood, united. _Finally._

Annie turned to face Finnick again. He skimmed his hands over her shoulders, slipping one sleeve of her dress off her shoulder and spilling down her arm before doing the same with the other sleeve. Annie slid the sleeves off and the dress fell in a billowing pool of fabric around her ankles. Nothing but a pale, thin shift remained, barely reaching mid-thigh. Finnick had never seen her in so little before and he never wanted to look away. Such a strong word, never. But it was true.

Annie placed her hand over his heart and Finnick’s hands came to rest on her hips. She leaned into him, her slim body pressed flush against him, hip to hip, heart to heart. She pushed, ever so gently, against him, guiding him, and he took a step back. His legs hit the bed and he eased himself to sit down, bringing Annie with him until she stood between his knees.

Neither of them moved knowing this was where they should be, where they were always meant to be. Finnick thought he could stay here all night with his arms around Annie’s waist while her fingers brushed through his hair, her cheek resting against the top of his head. He could stay here until the day he died.

But he had promised himself tonight was about Annie, not anyone else. His hands crept past her hips, down her thighs, and hooked behind her knees. She put one knee on either side of his hips, straddling his lap with a confidence and surety he hadn’t seen in his quiet, kind Annie before. She traced his features with her fingertips, memorizing him by touch, the swell of his lips, the arch of his nose, the rise of his cheekbones, the hard line of his jaw.

Finnick’s hands skimmed along her legs then stopped at the hem of her shift, gauging her reaction. Annie noticed his pause and in one smooth motion, pulled her shift over her head and let it drop to the floor, baring herself to him. He was supposed to be the one with experience, he was supposed to be the one who wasn’t shy or hesitant. Instead, Annie was the one reassuring him, approving of every touch, every careful exploration his fingers made and willing him to go further.

Finnick started at her lips and trailed kiss after kiss down her neck, paying careful attention to the flutter of her pulse and how it sped up with each touch of his lips. He kept working his way down past the small dip between her collarbones until he reached her breasts. When he took one of her breasts in his mouth, Annie leaned into him in a silent plea for more, more of his mouth, more of his tongue, just more of _him._

The overwhelming urge to give her what she asked for flooded his mind. He pressed his hands flat against her back, reveling in every ridge, every smooth plane of her body, as he picked her up and laid her out on the bed.

For the first time in years, his Capitol lovers were far from his mind as he kissed down Annie’s body, discovering, teasing, loving every inch of skin with his lips and his hands. His thoughts were filled with only Annie and the soft sounds she made, the feel of her fingers on his shoulders pulling him closer.

Once Finnick reached Annie’s hip bones, right above the line of her underwear, he glanced up, ready to stop at the first sign of concern or fear in her eyes but there was none. Annie’s eyes were closed, her head tipped back, her mouth open in a state of sheer bliss. This is what he strived on a daily basis to give her, this world of nothing but ecstasy strong enough to drive away the pain, grief, and stress that plagued her day and night. If the opportunity presented itself, he would give anything to see that Annie stayed this way every second of every day, lost in a high of sensation and euphoria.

One of Annie’s hands curled under his arm then skimmed down his side, leaving a trail of goosebumps in her wake, before she hooked two fingers into his belt. His breath stuttered for a moment, out of surprise this time rather than the hesitation he had earlier. She pulled back, returning her hand to his arm and kissed his shoulder, moving up his throat.

Finnick reached up to cradle the back of her neck and brushed his thumb against her cheek before taking her hand and placing it back on his belt again.

“I want to,” he said. And he did. He wanted nothing between them anymore in every sense of the word, no Capitol, no Games, just the hypnotic effect of skin on skin, of tender sighs, of endless kisses. Even the thin fabric of clothing was frustrating, separating him from the complete touch of Annie against him.

Annie studied him, her gaze steady, searching for any hints that he was only doing this to please her. Slowly, she worked his belt free then stole another glance up at him before the top button of his pants came free beneath her fingers as well. The pants were discarded and never once did Finnick or Annie look away from each other.

Finnick’s fingers curled into the waistband of Annie’s underwear, peeling it off, taking his time with no coaxing on Annie’s part this time. Annie held her hand out to him and Finnick took it, lacing their fingers together as he crawled back up her body to kiss her. He hovered above her, the heat of her body making him both eager and concerned to go any further for fear of seeing even the slightest bit of pain or discomfort on Annie’s face. His free hand tangled in her hair and he caressed her cheek with his thumb. She looked him straight in the eyes, her gaze strong, certain. Annie’s hand came to rest on the small of his back, reassuring him, coaxing him closer.

“Now, Finnick,” she breathed.

He eased into her, cautiously, letting her body get used to him. She gasped into his mouth and her knees tightened against his sides. Was he hurting her? He pulled back far enough to look into her eyes, to make sure she still wanted this, still wanted to keep going.

“Annie?” he asked, soft yet tight with concern.

In answer, her hand pressed harder against his back, reassuring him she was all right, encouraging him.

“I’m here,” she whispered. “Please, just move.”

Finnick waited a moment or two longer then did as she asked and started a slow, steady rhythm. Annie curled a leg over his back and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him ever closer. At last, they were together, they were one.

With every stroke, Finnick slid deeper into Annie. Gentle sounds of pleasure fell from her lips like water, wearing away the walls he had built to protect himself until there was nothing left. For years, he had never been so close to someone, so frighteningly vulnerable. Annie had opened herself to him, allowed him into her mind, her heart, and now her body and in doing so, she had shown him the way to let the walls fall, to let her in and he wasn’t afraid.

Finnick melted under Annie’s arms until he could feel her hips buck against his, craving more friction, driving him further into her. He kissed her hard, long, and deep, just as hard as that night they were reunited, when he thought his heart would burst at the sight of Annie running towards him, the feel of her in his arms.

The fear Finnick had been suffocating under for the past few weeks vanished like smoke on the wind as his world became nothing but Annie and the depths of her sea green eyes he could drown himself in, the taste of her lips, the smell of her skin, and the press of her fingertips against his back, urging him to go faster, to go deeper. He could feel her body growing tense beneath him, her breath coming in short, quick gasps now and his body responded in kind. It was as if by being inside Annie, the more he touched her, the more she touched him, he could feel what she felt, and it drove him higher and higher, taking her with him.

Annie clung to him now, her ankles hooked over his back, her arms clutching his shoulders, her mouth pressed to the hollow of his collarbone, her breath hot and quick against his skin. Finnick buried his face in her hair, his lips against her throat.

“I love you,” he whispered.

Annie trembled as her entire body clenched around him, locking him against her as she tipped over the edge, taking Finnick with her. Finnick slid one hand under her back, holding her tight to his chest, reveling in the way every bit of her surrounded him. For a few moments, just a few, the grip of Finnick and Annie Odair was so tight, so complete, the world and its horrors could not get in and blacken their minds with worry and fear. For a few moments, just a few, Finnick and Annie Odair were happy.

Neither of them let go as they came down, limp against one another. Finnick broke away just far enough to leave a soft trail of kisses to Annie’s chest where he rested his head, never moving his arms from her waist, never pulling out of her. He wished he never had to pull out of her, to stay connected with her always, feeling what she felt, every catch in her breath, every movement of her muscles, every flutter of her heartbeat.

Annie twined her fingers through Finnick’s hair with a slow contentment to her movements. She gave a small hum of laughter and Finnick glanced up.

She beamed, that smile that made Finnick’s heart ache every time he saw the way it rippled through her whole body.

“Husband,” she mused, running her fingers over his lips.

He grinned and kissed her fingers. “Wife,” he replied. Would he ever get tired of seeing that smile on Annie’s face? No, he thought. Never.

 

 

 

 


End file.
